Passing through
by Imjustlikeyou12
Summary: France durning World War II. Nouvion is occupied by the germans, but that doesn't stop the Resistance to help shotdown British airmen back to their country. Gregory is saved and taken to a café where he finds himself hidden together with a jew.
1. Chapter 1

**Passing through**

Chapter 1. _Crashed down in the unknown_

Gregory doesn't remember how it happened. He remembered flying over a dark forest, on his way through France to Paris, and then he remembered that the plane was diving down in a speed he couldn't imagine. His heart had beaten fast and hard, and now he had woken up by the heat of fire. But he was being dragged. Someone dragged him away from the fire.

He coughed because of the smoke. The one who was dragging him shushed him.

Soon they were hidden in the dark forest, with a dark night sky above them. Gregory got some water the drink. He gladly drank the cold liquid from the bottle. It felt like his throat was burning. It stung when he water hit the inner walls. While he drank he looked at his savior.

It was a man, about his own age or maybe older, who had a shovel on his back. He seemed to have dark brown hair and dirty clothes. The most of him was covered by the shadows.

Gregory was still sitting on the ground, he couldn't feel his legs. But when he hit them with his fists he could feel it, and when he moved them a thousand nails was biting him. He bit his own lip to not scream in pain.

His savior was standing with his back pressed against a tree, looking out over the field they just had left. The airplane Gregory had flew was being eaten my flames out there. He lifted a small flashlight and started it, and then turned it off again, like a sign. Then he sat down beside Gregory to see if he was ok.

He grabbed Gregory's chin and turned his head, first right, then left. Then he pulled his arm to make him stand up. Gregory did so, and the man studied him from top to the bottom, turning him around. He smiled when he was done.

" 'ow do you feel?" He asked with a French accent.

"Terrible, I must say." Gregory answered, making his own British accent very clear. I felt dazed. "Who are you? And where am I?"

"Christophe," He reached out his hand, which Gregory grabbed. "-leader of the Resistance 'ere in Nouvion."

"Nouvion?" Gregory looked around. He had never heard of that place before.

"You are not in ze village yet." Christophe grabbed Gregory's arm. "Follow me. And do not say a word."

Gregory did as he was told. He knew that if he didn't he would regret it sooner or later. They half-ran through the woods, a few other people from the Resistance followed them from behind Gregory saw when he looked behind his back a few times. They entered the village quietly and found their way through the streets without anyone noticing. It was way past curfew and the only thing that was heard was a cat chasing a mouse, and hard footsteps from the patrolling Germans somewhere in the distance.

Gregory had no idea where Christophe was taking him, and he had no idea what he was going to do now. He was supposed to be in the air, on his way to Paris trying to takeout the Germans from there. But he had gotten shot down, he realized now. Luckily he wasn't hurt, and he wasn't so shocked, so it must have worked out pretty well. He knew that if Christophe hadn't taking him away from the burning plane he would be dead by now or maybe even prisoner to the Germans.

They ended up in a backyard, of what Gregory could see, and they entered a house from the back door, locking it behind them. Christophe said to Gregory to stay where he was until he got back. So Gregory waited with the others from the Resistance.

Gregory studied the room, but without light it was hard to see anything. There was a table in the middle, he could see, and cupboards on the wall, and a big clock standing on the floor, reaching up almost two meters of the wall, but it seemed that it had stopped.

When Christophe got back a few minutes later, he was not alone. A small group of people had followed them into the room. Whispering things in French that Gregory didn't understand. Two of them held a lantern in their hands.

Christophe seemed to explain something for them, he didn't even look at Gregory when he came inside. The small group glared at Gregory at times, nodded to Christophe, and asked something. To Gregory it seemed like they were trying to find out what to do.

After a time, Christophe finally turned to Gregory again.

" 'ow many of you was eet?"

"Excuse me?" Gregory didn't understand what he meant and gave him a confused glare.

"W'ere you ze only airman?"

Gregory needed to think if he were the only one that had left England. But then he remembered that they had flown in small groups of two. He shook his head slowly.

"No, there was three more."

"Sheet." Christophe turned around and talked to the others again. Some of them seemed worried, others seemed pretty much emotionless. It felt like they never stopped talking, until one of the other Resistance members told Christophe something that made him look a little worried, he said something more to the group and then turned to Gregory again.

"You must stay 'ere. I weel be back later."

The others from the Resistance opened the door and went outside, very careful to not make any noise, or be seen. Christophe was about to go after them, but Gregory stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"Wait, what about me?"

"Zese guys will take care of you." Christophe answered, ready to go through the door again, but Gregory held him back.

"But I don't understand a word of their language!"

"Stan knows a little English." With that said, Christophe disappeared into the night.

Gregory turned to the group of people he had been left with. They were three men and one woman. All of them seemed unsure about what to do, like someone had giving them a mission without instructions.

One of them stepped forward to greet Gregory. His mouth opened without any words at first, but then, when he inhaled and exhaled slowly, he introduced himself.

"I am Stan Artois." He whispered, almost the same accent as Christophe had. Gregory grabbed his hand.

"Gregory Thorne."

"Zis is Kenneth Dubois." Stan's hand pointed at a tall, blonde man, who lifted his hand in a friendly gesture, but his face didn't seem too happy. But in times like this you have a reason to not show happiness.

"And zis is Wendy Carte-Blanche." He pointed at the only girl, who at least smiled a little when Gregory looked at her. She was looked much younger than the other two men. "And zat's Leopold Labonq. But we, eh…"

Stan searched for the worlds, not used to talk in English. "Ehm, call him Butters."

Gregory just nodded. He didn't know what to say. He had no idea who these people were, if they also were a part of the Resistance, or if they were even willing to help him. And how could they help him? His plane had crashed, his companion was missing, Germans were after him and he didn't know who to trust in this for him unknown country. Well, he thought he could trust Christophe at least. He had saved him from the fire and seemed to want to help him. But he needed to get back to England. He couldn't stay in France, not for long. If he could secretly get in some sort of contact with London he maybe could get saved without having too much trouble. But how could he get in contact with London?

"Come with me." Stan said suddenly to Gregory. Gregory, who woke up from his thinking, did as he was told, he followed Stan pass the others and out through the door the group had come from. They now came out in a bar, behind the disk, Stan showed Gregory they way to another door next to the disk, he opened his and turned the lights on. He waved to show Gregory to follow him down the stairs that were hidden behind that door.

Downstairs they found a storage room, but Stan moved further into the room, where there was a big wardrobe. He grabbed one side of it and pushed with all his strength. The wardrobe moved slowly out of the way, and behind it another door was hidden. Stan knocked four times on it and then opened slowly. He began to talk in French again, with someone that was inside of the small room. Soon Stan gave Gregory a sign to come to the door. And so when Gregory did, he saw another man inside of the room with dark red, curly hair.

"Zis is Kyle Recamier." Gregory and Kyle nodded a small gesture. "He speaks better English than I. He will take care of you in here. I will come back soon. Inside now."

Stan turned around and headed upstairs again. Gregory looked after him as he turned the lights off and closed the door. The whole cellar was now covered in darkness; there was no sign of light anywhere.

Gregory felt a hand grasp around his wrist.

"Come inside." Kyle pulled him inside the small room. The door closed and if possible, even more darkness surrounded them. And then, suddenly Kyle lit a lantern and the small room was bathing in a gloomy light. Kyle put the lantern on the floor, close to the door, and then begun to pick up pillows and blankets that was lying in a corner. Gregory noticed that there a mattress in one corner, with messy covers and hard pillows.

"It isn't much, and it isn't comfortable, but it works in times like these." Kyle said and picked up the last sheets. "Sit or lay down, I'm going to turn the lantern off."

Gregory made his way to sit down in the lonely corner, where there was no mattress. It was cold and hard, like sitting in an empty bathtub. But he couldn't complain, he had no right to.

Kyle moved the lantern, and the turned it off. He moved so he was lying on his mattress in the opposite corner in the small, cold room.

"Who are you?" Gregory asked after a few minutes of thinking.

"I'm someone who needs to be hidden away, just like you." Kyle answered quietly without moving himself.

"You are French."

"I'm Jewish."

"Oh." Gregory felt stupid. He didn't know what to say. Sorry? If that, what was he sorry about? Sorry for Kyle for being Jewish? Sorry that he didn't know he was Jewish? Instead of saying anything he lay leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, and felt how tired his whole body was. But it was hard to relax when you felt like you were somewhere you didn't belong.

Gregory felt a weird feeling in his stomach, almost like vomiting. Maybe he even shed a few tears without noticing. He was young, far away from home, hiding in a cellar with an unknown Jew with Germans searching for him outside. This was not what he was used to, this was a whole new world.

He dragged his knees up to his chin and hugged them tightly.

What could he do now?


	2. Chapter 2

**Passing through**

Chapter 2. _Hidden away_

When Gregory woke up he was not lying on a hard floor with blankets. He was lying on a mattress. At first he thought that he was home in England again, and he was just about to complain about the light coming from the window when he realized that his eyes already was open, staring into complete darkness.

He sat straight, looking around to see if he could see anything, but he didn't. He started to breathe hard and sweat of fear. His memory slowly came back to him, so he lay down again, pulling the cover tightly around himself. It was so cold.

"Are you awake?" A voice suddenly asked in the dark.

Gregory's heart skipped a beat. He had completely forgotten that he was not alone.

"Yes." Gregory answered in a breath, his heart beating at full speed. And if that wasn't enough, he begun to shake. "When did they move in the mattress?" Gregory asked to keep a conversation.

"Just after you fell asleep." Kyle whispered back, making Gregory remember to be a little quieter. "You were so exhausted, didn't even noticing us moving you." Kyle moved in his corner.

"Are you hungry?"

Gregory hadn't eaten for a long time, of what he knew he had just eaten before he left England, but he didn't feel any hunger at all not at the moment at least.

"It is about lunch time." Kyle said. "Stan brought down breakfast, but yours must be cold now."

Gregory didn't feel like talking about food. Well, he didn't really want to talk about anything, so he kept his mouth shut without answering Kyle. He listened to his own and Kyle's breathing, and he listened if he heard something from above. It took a while until he heard something.

He heard footsteps walking around, chairs or tables being moved against the floor, voices talking, laughter and even some music from a radio or a gramophone. It reminded him about being home again.

Oh, so he missed everything before the war started, before he joined the RAF. His own big, soft bed he could sleep in. The wonderful breakfast the maids gave him. How his parents enjoyed when he played piano in the saloon. There he weren't in need of killing and hiding, he didn't need to be afraid to die in just one hour.

A loud voice was rising in the room above them. Complaining could be heard and more chairs being dragged against the floor. People were moving. Are they going to come down stairs? Gregory sat up and listened.

"What is happening?" He whispered to Kyle.

Kyle chuckled lightly. "No need to worry. The café closes after lunch time, and opens again later in the afternoon. Stan will soon move the wardrobe from the door and let us out."

"Let us out?" Gregory hugged the blanket tightly around him.

"We need to eat lunch, maybe use the bathroom. Christophe come might too." Kyle explained simply. Gregory could tell that Kyle must have been down here for a long time.

As they became quite again, the voices upstairs disappeared and a door got locked. Soon to follow was the noise of feet going down the stairs. Gregory heard how Kyle sat up expectant.

They heard how the wardrobe was moved slowly. Gregory remembered how Stan had pushed it aside, and how tired he was afterwards, this time the wardrobe moved faster and easier, which meant that Stan (if it was him) was not alone. When the door opened the little room was drowning in light. Gregory hidden hid eyes behind his arm, his eyes hurt by the sudden light.

"Come 'ere." A familiar, sharp voice said. A hand grasped the collar of Gregory's shirt and dragged him out from the cold room. Gregory automatically tried to look at the person who was dragging him towards the stairs. He didn't get to see much before he closed his eyes again, because of the bright light, but he did see thick, dirty brown hair and, what reminded of a shovel was attached to the back. When they got to the stairs he almost fell, but opened his eyes just a little to make sure to not trip on the steps. They got up in the café, which was empty from people and the windows were covered so no one could see in or out. Gregory was forced to sit down on a chair by a table. The man with the shovel sat on the opposite side of the table. Gregory took a look at him when his eyes finally had got used to the light, so he now saw that it was Christophe from last night.

Stan and Kyle came up from the stairs and closed the door behind them. They talked quietly in French to each other, always looking into on others eyes. Even if Gregory didn't know what kind of connection they had to each other, he knew that they somehow where close.

"Your name." Christophe said. Gregory turned his head to him.

"What?"

"Give us your name." Christophe didn't sound as nice as he had done last night.

"I said it to you last night. I…"

Suddenly a hand came from behind, reaching down inside of shirt and dragging his tags off his neck. When he turned around he saw the tall blonde guy from last night, whose name he couldn't remember.

"W'o are you?" Christophe said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I told you I am Gregory Thorne."

"Your compulsory number?" The tall man gave the tags to Christophe.

"1120 64." Gregory answered without problem. He had learned back in England that the number is very important to know.

"W'ich school were you attending to?" Christophe seemed to have asked these questions many times before.

"Yardale."

"W'o was your 'ome teacher?"

What kind of question is that, Gregory thought to himself before he answered. "Mr. Jonathan Davies."

"W'at made you join ze RAF?"

Memories rushed through Gregory's mind. Those times he had spent down in the basement together with his father. "My father loved planes. He built his own planes, those small ones, y' know? During the first war he was also an airman, but got shot down by the German front. My mother asked me to join this time, because I had learned a lot from my father. She said I was 'talented' enough to come back alive. I did as I was told, and left England to help in the war. It must sound stupid, but that's how it is."

Christophe didn't answer; he ignored the last sentence and asked a new question.

"You told us last night you were two people in your plane…"

"Yes, it was." Gregory nodded.

"W'at ees ze name of ze person you were in flying with?"

"His name is Philip Pirrup."

Gregory saw that Christophe and the tall boy behind him exchanged a glare. He didn't know what that could have meant. It could mean that they knew where he was, what had happened to him. Was it bad? Or was it good? But he remained quiet, trying to keep his calm. He now noticed that Stan and Kyle had left the café room. He stretched his neck and saw another staircase that went upstairs. He didn't get much time to think about it until the next questions came.

"W'ere were you attacked?"

"How should I know? It was dark, I don't know this country. It was somewhere near a forest, I think. It was trees under us at least."

"W'en you got hit, w'at did you do?"

"We were going to jump, but my seatbelt was stuck. Pirrup assured that he'd help me, but I made him jump without me. I managed to cut off the seatbelt by my pocket knife, but the plane must have hit the ground before I got the chance to jump myself." Gregory saw it all happen before him again while he explained.

"Well…" Christophe rose from his chair, walked around the table to stand by Gregory's side. He grabbed Gregory's chin, like he had done the night before, and turned it as he studied him. Gregory took his chance to study his savior himself now when he got the chance in day light. His eyes were the first thing he checked. They were big, tired, researching, and so deep, dark brown. All Gregory managed to read in them was sadness, before Christophe let go of his chin.

"You were lucky, Gregory." He said with a smile. "Your neck got some scratches, but otzerwise you are perfectly fine, it seems. And you were lucky zat we from the Resistance were close by when you fell."

"If not you'd be a piece of coal by now." Kyle said when came out from the room behind the dish, with a tray in his hands. Stan was following him.

The smell of food filled the room. Gregory's stomach made an unpleasant noise, and everyone looked at him. He didn't meet any of their gazes. He couldn't help that he was hungry.

Kyle put down the tray in front of him.

"You didn't eat any breakfast, so you must eat now." And Gregory didn't deny it, so he grabbed the fork and begun to eat whatever was served on the plate in front of him. He wasn't used to French food, but at the time, this tasted really good. Well, most food tasted good when you're hungry.

While he ate, the other discussed something in French. He didn't even bothering listen, their language was too complicated for him, so instead he checked their body language. It didn't help him so much either. Christophe was smiling. He hadn't done that during their whole interrogation. He almost looked satisfied. The tall boy who had taken his tags didn't seem so pleased about the situation. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was leaned against the bar dish, looking at the entrance to the café time to time. Stan on the other hand looked calm. This was this first time Gregory had seen him calm. Gregory took the last piece of food from his plate and looked at Kyle, who also looked at the door, pending. By curiosity he looked that way too, but didn't see anything. The windows were covered and the door locked. The only way someone could look inside was if they broke through the glass.

The thought made Gregory swallow, so he reached for the glass on the table to drink the liquid, whatever it was. The taste was horrible, and somewhat spicy, he spit it back in shock.

The others in the room looked at him. The tall, blond guy was the first to laugh.

"Il ne peut même pas boire un peu d'alcool!" He said through the laughter.

Gregory looked at him, confused, while he dried the corner of his mouth. Stan took the glass from Gregory and said something to the others that made them laugh. He walked behind the bar to put away the glass, instead he purred up something else and gave it to Gregory. But Gregory didn't look like he wanted to drink anymore, but when he saw that it was coffee he couldn't resist. Of anything right now, he really needed something to keep him awake. Everything was like a strange dream.

Christophe sat down by the table with him, the tall, blond guy followed Stan and Kyle upstairs.

"We are going to keep you 'ere for a w'ile" Christophe leaned back in his chair. "We 'ave made contact with London, and it seems like you really are zat Gregory you told us you were."

"Of course I am." Gregory said while slowly sipping on his coffee. "What is it that makes you doubt?"

"You could very likely be a German." Christophe took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. "Zey are searching for us too. Zey can take anyone that zey zink is 'elping us. Zat's why zis café has to pretend zey are on ze German side. People call zem collaborators and don't visit anymore. Of course, some costumers understands us and comes to visit anyways, but zey don't know about the Resistance." The smoke slide out from his mouth when he talked, he held the cigarette between two fingers.

"How long will it take to get me home?" Gregory asked.

"It depends on w'at London is planning." He lifted the cigarette to his mouth again. "But you 'ave to believe us; we will take you 'ome."

Gregory's and Christophe's eyes met and they stared at each other for a long time.

"I find it troublesome to believe in people at times like this, I think however; I will believe and trust you." Gregory said, never breaking the eye contact.

Christophe just smiled.

* * *

**I really suck at writing when Christophe is talking... hopefully you can read it.**


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